


Nu'ke'gyce - Rebellion

by KA513



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Headcanon, Kidnapping, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Nudity, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KA513/pseuds/KA513
Summary: During the Galactic Civil War, the Mandalorian known as Fenris Claddanna has suffered a terrible loss. Reeling with grief, he seeks out old allies to aid him on his quest for vengeance. All the while, he seeks to reconcile the man he was with the grim realities of galactic war. Trapped, as it were, between two worlds. Elsewhere, the last known survivor of Clan Cadera has thrown in with the Alliance to Restore the Republic, taking the fight against her parents' killer the best she can. Meanwhile, Katra Dromaar, a veteran of the Clone Wars, has once again taken up arms, training the next generation of soldiers. Whether it's for profit, or for other motives remains unclear. What is clear, as their paths and destinies intertwine, is that this is unlike any other war fought. This is war to the bitter end, fighting to the last shot, to the last minute, to the last ship, to the last being. This is war to the death.This is Rebellion.
Kudos: 2





	1. A New Horror

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration with two of my close friends, Sombraptor and LadyAbhorsen, involving our Mandalorian OC's. As noted in the tags above, this is set in an Alternate Universe that includes elements from Disney Canon and Legends materials as well as a good bit of fanon/headcanon. This also does deal with some very dark themes including PTSD, slavery (including on-screen depictions of abuse), kidnapping, and similar. Please take the time to read the listed tags as they are there for a reason. As additional themes are added, additional tags will be added as appropriate. This is still a work in progress, so updates will not always be consistent. I'm going to try and keep the chapters specific to one location per chapter, but there may be some chapters with multiple locations.
> 
> Read the tags. If you're not into dark themes, or you find them to be too much to emotionally handle, please back out now. It's only going to get worse from here. If you're fine with that, then buckle up because it's going to be one hell of a ride.
> 
> As a note, we are NOT looking for ConCrit at this time; this is three friends having some fun and spinning a story. Cameos and random nods to history may happen from time to time, I'll call them out in the end notes.
> 
> Credits:  
> Fenris Claddanna, Casie, and Tanwyn are the creation of ka513.  
> Cat'ra Cadera is the creation of LadyAbhorsen  
> Katra Dromaar is the creation of Sombraptor  
> Other OC's to be credited as applicable.

With a smooth, barely felt shudder, the cargo ship dropped from hyperspace. Rotating on her long axis, she arrowed in towards the bright green jewel that was Garos IV. On her bridge, an armoured figure sat at the helm, giving voice to a deep sigh before flipping a pair of switches on his console, opening a channel to the port controllers.

“Garos control, this is the Mandalorian cargo ship _Amaranthe_ on final approach. Requesting a landing slot, over.” Long years of dealing with clients allowed him to keep his voice an even, pleasant tenor despite the tension he was feeling. As expected, the response was as prompt as it was terse.

“ _Amaranthe_ , we don’t show you on our scheduled arrivals. What is the purpose of your visit?”

“Hunting trip.” The Mando replied, letting just a hint of steel creep into his voice. For once, the common stereotype of Mandalorians being bounty hunters worked for him, as Control rapidly responded in somewhat of a babble.

“Understood, _Amaranthe_. As per planetary regulations, only non-lethal methods may be used within city and town limits. Please transmit your permit now.”

Punching a couple of buttons, Fen did as requested. His long-ago hack into the ISBs databanks had paid off handsomely, giving him the ability to grant himself not only a Black List permit, which was the holiest of holies in the bounty hunting community, but also allowed him to grant non-existent contracts to himself. And cover up any loose ends that he needed to.

After a moment, Control’s voice came back. “ _Amaranthe_ , you’re cleared on vector three-two-seven. Do you require any local assistance or a landing pad?”

“Negative, Control. I require nothing save that I be left alone during my stay here. In fact, I was never here, understood?” He added a bit more steel into his voice, as well as a slight growl. Typical ISB thuggery, as it happened.

“Understood, _Amaranthe_.” By now, Control’s voice was practically panic incarnate. No one wanted to mess with a Mandalorian. Especially not one operating under an ISB contract. That tended to be a rather fatal mistake. “Control out.”

Closing the channel on his end, Fen resettled his hands on the controls of the ship. Two-thirds the length of his old _Nightwish_ , _Amaranthe_ was significantly wider and massed only an eighth less than the assault ship had. Further, where the assault ship had been designed from the keel out as a stealthy raider, _Amaranthe_ had started her life as a bulk freighter and had been rebuilt over time to serve as both a bounty vessel and a Q-ship. The former had enjoyed exquisite stealth systems to hide her; the latter was forced to make due with guile and misdirection. Shaking off that train of thought, he expertly guided the ship planetward, eventually finding himself in a canyon at the base of a mountain. Setting the ship down with a gentle thump, he retrieved his helmet. Like the ship, the helmet was new. A sleeker, more angular profile, it bore new colours: green, for duty. Gold, for vengeance. Grey, for her. Closing his eyes, his free hand found the teal medallion hanging from his neck. Gently fingering it, he sighed once more before whispering, more to himself than anything else. “I miss you, cyar’ika. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.”

Shaking off the pain of old wounds, Fen donned his helmet before turning and slapping the door release. He had business to attend to. Swiftly, he collected his merchandise - an Imperial Major in a torn and filthy uniform, and dropped the ships’ ramp. “No funny business, mir’osik. One wrong move, and you’re dead.” Forcing the luckless Major down the ramp, he noticed that a group of Rebel soldiers had surrounded his vessel and were, in fact, pointing a motley collection of blasters at him. “I believe,” he drawled, “I have an invitation.”

The Captain knocked back a shot of Corellian whiskey in the quiet darkness of the base's cantina, and found herself desperately missing the burn of tihaar. She hadn't had a taste of the powerful spirit since she had left Mandalore what felt like a lifetime ago.

In some ways, a lifetime ago was exactly what it was. When she arrived in Kyrimorut, severely wounded in both body and spirit, she had been Cat; a stupid little girl who tried to take on the Emperor's enforcer in single combat. Her foolishness had cost her right arm, left lung, and the entirety of her confidence.

Now she was Captain Cadera. Would have been promoted to Major if not for her refusal to leave her men. She had earned one hell of a reputation on the Garos IV base; known as the Iron Lady to most… but as Cat'buir to her troops.

She flexed her animatronic hand absently, noting a very slight delay in its response. She frowned. "Have to get this serviced later."

Her attention was drawn to a mousey redhead hurrying over to her. "Captain Cadera!" The troop snapped a salute, looking absurdly young with her freckles and wisps of hair escaping her braid. She reminded Ca'tra a little of her old self… once upon a time.

"At ease, Private Jansen." She replied, returning the salute. "What's the problem, ad'ika?" She was off duty, and one thing she had left over from her old life with a dislike of pretense; though now she saw its usual necessity.

The girl's posture relaxed some. "Cat'buir, you are requested on Platform B. They said a somewhat belligerent Mandalorian has arrived and they're asking you to run interference."

She gave a small chuckle. "Alright. Wouldn't want command to soil themselves." She stood, putting on her helmet. All of her youthful softness had gone from her body, replaced with iron-hard muscle. Her armor had been repainted too; mottled brown and green with touches of grey. It was good for camouflage and while the brown had no real meaning, the green indicated her new duty first to her troops, then to the Rebellion. The tiny touches of gray? Perhaps mourning the loss of her former self. "Fetch Hewert, Wil, and Arry and meet me on the platform in five. I don't expect trouble but it's best to be prepared."

She stalked out of the cantina, not bothering to check if the Private had followed her order. She knew she had. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind. 

The Mandalorian cast an intimidating figure, easily parting people around her as she made her way to her destination. When she arrived on the platform, Private Jansen greeted her with three other troops, all of whom flanked her as she approached the scene.

She didn't recognize the ship, nor the other Mandalorian that stood surrounded by blasters. She did smile to herself when she saw the Imp in his custody. Keeping her posture even, she came to a stop near the other Mando.

"Olarom." Her voice was strong and clear. "State your name and your purpose, vod." She stated in Mando'a.

“Su’cuy, vod.” Fen nodded to the other Mando’ad. “I am Fenris of Kyrimorut. My purpose is three-fold. First, I’ve come to deliver some merchandise and claim the bounty on it. Secondly, I was told by a mutual friend that an outfit here could use my special talents. Lastly, I’m here for more...personal reasons. I left vode behind, long ago. It’s time they were brought home.” As he spoke this last, his voice took on an almost contemplative note. In an almost whisper, he continued. “I never should have left them behind. They were my comrades, and I failed them.”

As Fen started to get lost in his own head again, the Imp he was holding onto started struggling. Although he couldn’t see where he was, it was obvious that he had heard the others. “Whoever you are, I’ll pay a lot of money for you to let me go! This Mando is a psycho! He’s crazy!”

The sudden jolt was enough to break Fen’s train of thought, and he snapped back to the present. Drawing his blaster, he cracked the butt of it over the prisoners’ head with a gruff “Quiet, you.” Reholstering it, he turned his attention back to the other Mando. He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something familiar about her.

 _Fenris? Holy osik, was it really him? How long had it been?_ Grateful her helmet hid her expression, and managing to keep her posture professional, she nodded. "Men, take the prisoner to a cell and prepare a transfer of credits to this gentleman's account."

They all snapped a salute with a unanimous "Yes ma'am!" And half dragged, half carried the Imp away. 

She and the other Mandalorian were alone on the platform and for a long moment, they watched one another. Then Cat reached up and removed her helmet. Her hair was shorter, her face harder, cheeks marked with self-inflicted scars in the shape of the Cadera crest. But she smiled a little, warming her hazel eyes. "It's been a long time."

“Cat’ika? Shab, it’s good to see you.” Fen blinked in surprise, before lifting his helmet off. “You’re looking fit to fight these days. Where have you been? Last time I heard anything about you, Jora had commed me saying you’d left with no forwarding address.” At the other’s inquisitive expression, he continued. “I might have kicked you off my ship, vod’ika, but I never stopped caring. That’s why I left you with our aliit; so I knew you would heal. So I knew you’d be safe. I kept tabs on you in the hopes that you’d learn and you could rejoin us.”

Cat nodded, then glanced at the ship behind Fen. “Bit different than you usually fly. _Nightwish_ down for repairs?”

“Nope. I loaned her to Jora. Too many memories, really. Besides, she doesn’t deserve to be laid up in some hidden dock somewhere.”

Cat could sense a deep sadness eating away at him. She noticed he was alone and her heart sank. Too many memories indeed… she walked forward and gave him a strong hug. "It's good to see you too, Fen'ika"

She pulled away, still smiling, but her smile had changed. It was no longer the silly, carefree smile of a child. "I'm not angry with you. Not anymore. My time in Kyrimorut gave me the discipline I need to do something with myself. I still want revenge for my family, but instead of charging in and getting myself killed, I'll exact my vengeance the smart way." She gestured behind her to the base. "By training the people that will bring the Empire down."

Nodding to the ship behind him, Fen spoke again. “Want the ten decicred tour?” Unspoken was the understanding that Cat had unspoken questions.

“That would be nice.”

Fen led the way back into his ship, pointing out the various features and differences between _Amaranthe_ and _Nightwish_. Eventually, the pair found themselves in the bow cargo hold, currently half-filled with blaster crates. Nodding to them, Fen spoke again.

“More gifts from our mutual friend. But I get the feeling you have questions. Shoot.”

Cat looked around the smaller ship, nodding to herself. But in truth she had little interest in the ship itself, paying much closer attention to the way Fenris moved. He used to have a smooth, confident roll to his stride, but now his posture was stiff, shoulders stooped. 

“Yeah. I do have some questions actually…” She hated to ask, not wanting to bring her friend pain but it was something she had to know. She leaned against one of the walls, keeping her posture and expression open.

“What happened?”

“Alderaan.” Fen remarked flatly. “We had already started making overtures to the Alliance, working for them as privateers. But High Command wanted to meet face to face. I had...other commitments to take care of, so Casie and Tanwyn took Storm Seeker to meet with Senator Organa in Aldera Royal Palace. They had just landed when the Death Star showed up.” Fingering the teal medallion around his neck, Fen started pacing. “I had sent them on ahead to prep everything. I was supposed to arrive a couple days later. When I arrived and found nothing but debris where the planet should have been? I went mad. I don’t know how long I drifted there, screaming my heart out. All I know is I swore Racheid that day. Death to the Empire. So I continued to build my army. And now, here we are. Her Majesty's Government has likewise sworn Racheid, albeit for other reasons. Your command will need to work out some details with Her Government, but for all intents and purposes, we can offer the Rebellion five thousand combat-hardened troops, another ten thousand fresh troops, four capital ships, and eighteen support ships of varying classes. All of those are homebuilt, so the largest is a heavy cruiser, and most of the support ships are similar in size and capability to Nightwish. As a token of goodwill, we have fifty crates of infantry weapons here on Amaranthe, some crew-served, most E-11’s and E-22s. I can transport you and your Command to Killashandra at any point you’d like.”

“Osik…” Cat breathed softly. Tanwyn and Cassie… gone. Erased as if they had never existed to begin with. Yet another grievance to hang at the Empire’s door. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it firmly. “I’m so sorry Fen. But I will help you to avenge them if I can.”

She held her chin thoughtfully. “We can use all the help we can get. Leave things to me to smooth things over with the brass. I have a decent amount of sway here so it won’t take too long.” She tapped her foot, as she thought, one of her ticks left over from her old life. “What about ‘Tra and Mird? Are they…?”

“They’re fine. Feldwebel-Leutnant Dromaar is on Killeshandra training elements of the Königliches Armeekorps. Mird, last I heard was back on Mandalore raising hell with the aliit.” At Cat’s raised eyebrow, Fen clarified. “Feldwebel-Leutnant would be akin to Warrant Officer in Basic. Literally translated, it would mean Sergeant-Lieutenant. It’s not a direct line commission, more of a technical specialist. Her Majesty has brought in dozens of specialists to help rebuild and expand our military after fifteen years of relative peace. We’ve had to, to fight off the Zygerrians. Empire won’t stop them, so we will.”

“One other point of clarification.” Cat asked, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “What exactly is Racheid?”

“Racheid is one of our oldest traditions. Garrl’sti tradition, I mean. Dates back to the Dark Age of the Republic. It’s an oath of revenge, one that can only end with the death of either the one who swore it or the one upon whom revenge was sworn. You might call it a blood feud.”

Cat nodded softly to herself, her girlhood habit of chewing her lip surfacing again. “I’m sorry that this happened. Come on, we need to report to command then I’ll get you a drink.” She put her helmet back on, Fenris following suit. As the pair walked through the hall, the crowd parted for them, most snapping salutes to Cat while peering at Fen with uncertainty. A pair of Mando’ade in full armor cut an intimidating sight indeed.

Introducing Fenris to her commanding officer and reporting their status, she was ordered to keep an eye on him, which she was more than happy to do.

Once all that was finished, she led him down to the cantina. “I figure we could both use a drink before grub, all things considered. It’s nothing fancy, but it works in a pinch.” The pair got seats at the bar and Cat signaled for a shot of Corellian whisky for each of them. “To our friends.” She said as she lifted her glass and downed it. But before she could set it down, her hand closed, shattering it. “Kriff…” She swore under her breath.

Pulling her comlink out with her good hand, she pushed the button. “Bean’ika, if you’re free can you bring your kit down to the cantina? Arm’s acting up a bit.”

“I’ll be right there, Captain.” The voice on the other end was young and feminine.

“That happen often?” Fen nodded towards Cat’s arm. Most cybernetic arms had issues of one sort or another, but from the appearance he couldn’t place the manufacturer. As he ruminated, he became aware of the thump of boots against the floor. Not the lightweight steps of standard-issue Alliance footwear, but heavy-duty cetare. Glancing up, he caught sight of their owner. The purple and yellow armour was familiar, but the hair was now purple rather than blue and orange.

“Captain, I brought my repair kit. What seems to be the trouble with…”The newcomer trailed off as she caught sight of Fen. In a rather more frosty tone, she continued speaking. “Oh, it’s you. The pirate. How much innocent blood have you spilled this time?”

Gulping back the last of his whiskey, Fen gave the girl a flat stare. “Su’cuy, pretender.”

"Not too often." Cat replied as she flexed the fingers. "Got dinged up in a recent skirmish and neglected to have it serviced. She smiled when she saw Sabine Wren approach with her kit, but that smile faded when Sabine and Fenris began spitting venom at one another.

"Enough." Cat's voice was strong and authoritative, a far cry from the girl she had been. "I won’t tolerate that sort of behavior from you, Lieutenant. You know better."

The younger woman nodded. "Yes Captain. Understood."

Cat then turned her attention to Fenris, and while she couldn't pull rank on him, her voice remained steady and firm. "I won't tolerate it from you, either. Lieutenant Wren is my subordinate and I will not allow anyone to speak to her in such a manner."

Fen inclined his head towards Cat; a gesture of acquiescence. “As you say, vod.” Turning his gaze back towards Sabine, he continued. “I make no apology for what I’ve done, Lieutenant. This is war, and there are casualties in war. No, I don’t take prisoners. All it does is dilute my resources when those same guards could be used elsewhere. In a war as lopsided as this one, you can’t win by playing the Empire’s game. You can’t win by playing by their rules. So you force them to play your game; play by your rules. Forcing him to hunt you draws him out from behind his fortress walls. It forces him to expend fuel, rations, and munitions when he would otherwise stockpile them. Attacking his convoys further deprives him of supplies, and gives you the ability to expand your own stockpile. One of our ancient philosophers commented on such tactics: To fight and conquer is not supreme excellence. Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting. By disrupting his supply chains, by eroding the morale of his troops and his citizens, we break his resistance, and his resolve.”

“And the civilian spacers on his supply ships?” Sabine asked, her tone shifting from confrontation to one more inclined to discuss academic realities.

“They had a choice, just as we all do.” Tapping the rim of his glass to indicate a refill, he glanced once more at the girl. “They chose poorly.”

"Neither of you is entirely wrong." Cat broke into the heated conversation. She lay her arm down across the bar for Sabine to examine. "I noticed a delay in my fingers this morning, and just now I crushed a glass."

Cat took a different approach to things than either of the two beside her did. She just wouldn't think about it. She'd focus on the mission and on keeping her people safe. She was efficient, earning her the nickname Iron Lady. 

She was not without mercy either. She avoided targeting civilians, nor was it her custom to cut the heads off defeated kneeling men, as it were. But she would not hesitate to kill every single person before her to protect the people behind her.

"Will you be staying, Fen?"

Fen nodded. “As I mentioned on the platform, I have unfinished business on-planet. Don’t worry about finding me quarters; I’ll sleep on my ship. Tell me, do you know anything about the old mines here?”

“We’re sitting in one.” Cat replied. Sabine had gone to work on the arm, tinkering carefully, toning everything else out. “It’s dead though. Haven’t been into any of the still active mines. When the Rebellion set up camp here they thought the cave systems would make good shelter. I think it’s a good way to get buried alive.”

“Flex your fingers.” Sabine said.

Cat complied, moving her fingers in unison than one by one. “Still a slight delay. Almost unnoticeable but I don’t want to take that risk in a fight.”

Sabine nodded, going back to work, her young face illuminated by the light of a tiny blow torch for a few moments. A little pulling here, a little tinkering there. “Okay try again.”

Cat flexed, moving her fingers and wrist. A satisfied smile appeared on her face. “Perfect. Thank you Bean’ika. Go on then. I need to speak with our new arrival.”

Sabine nodded, casting a glance at Fenris before she left the two.

When the girl was gone, Cat turned her attention back to Fenris and raised an eyebrow. “You wanna tell me what that ‘pretender’ stuff was all about?’

“It’s simple, really.” Fen took a long pull of his drink after a moment of consideration. “She pretends to be Mandalorian. She follows Kryze, who is, last I checked, still Kyr’tsad. She invokes the ancient codes, yet refuses to follow through. She refused to execute a known traitor, instead leaving the job to another because she doesn’t have the gett’se to pull the trigger herself. She nearly wiped out her own family by trying to rescue her father from the shabla Imps. She wants the glory and renown of being Mandalorian without accepting the responsibilities and sacrifices that go with it. And worst of all, she created a superweapon that was designed, deliberately designed I might add, to target her own people. Or did she not tell you about the Duchess?” 

“She did. She also told me she destroyed it. And the plans for it. The only copy in existence, as it happens.”

Snorting, Fen shook his head. “Do you really think that there’s ever only one copy of anything in the Empire? No, don’t answer that. It’s beside the point. My point is that a Mandalorian, a real Mandalorian would never have created such a weapon in the first place. A real Mandalorian follows through when invoking the ancient codes. A real Mandalorian doesn’t put stock in ancient trinkets like the Darksaber. A real Mandalorian knows when it’s time to fight...and when it’s time to accept a loss and ba’slan shev’la. A real Mandalorian doesn’t leave an enemy alive to shoot them in the back.”

“Ne’johaa, Fen!” Cat snapped. “You don’t know anything about her. Or what she’s done.”

“I know enough to know she’s exactly what I said she is: a pretender.” Fen spat the last word as if it were an insult. “If she wasn’t, Sigi would still be alive. If she wasn’t, she never would have designed the Duchess. If she hadn’t, the Suprema wouldn’t be selling our people as slaves.”

“You need a reality check, ner vod. The Empire is responsible for that. The Empire used the Arc Pulse Generator, not Sabine. For pity’s sake, she was a child. The Empire indoctrinated her. This hatred you have for her, it’s irrational. Let it go.”

“My hatred is all I have!” Fen’s voice dropped to a low growl. “My hatred lets me see clearly. Lets me see what I have to do. It gives me the gett’se to do what I need to do.”

To say that Fen was rather surprised when a fist connected with the side of his head was an understatement. In fact, he had no recollection of being struck at all. One moment he was glaring at Cat, the next moment he was on the ground blinking away stars and looking at a pair of Mandalorian cetare.

“Hopefully that cleared your head, ner vod. Because I saw your mouth moving, but I swear I heard Kyr’tsad hut’uune talking.”

Cat took a deep breath, needing to cool her anger as she looked down at him. “Now that I have your attention, let me tell you a thing or two about Sabine Wren. That girl was fourteen years old when she designed the Duchess. A child who got carried away in her own discovery, with no foreknowledge of what it would be used for. She brought Bo-Katan Kryze into the fold, who, despite what you may think, is a woman of honor worthy of the highest respect. That in turn brought many of those clans that still sat on the fence to our side.”

She crossed her arms, her face as hard as iron. “I’ve been fighting beside her for over a year, and she is Mando’ad, through and through. You want to talk about what a real Mandalorian does and doesn’t do? A real Mandalorian admits her mistakes and does what she can to rectify them. A real Mandalorian pulls her head out of her shebs and does what needs to be done. She was a dumb, idealistic kid who made a dumb, idealistic mistake and is now doing her damndest to make amends. Something I can relate to.”

She knelt in front of him, keeping her voice firm. “As for your hatred, it’s not clearing anything. Hate gave me the gett’se to do what I thought I had to do too, and it cost me dearly.” She held up her cybernetic arm to emphasize her point. “Untethered hate is stupid and will get you killed, or worse. You knew that once. You kicked me off your ship because you knew my hate and lack of focus was a danger to myself and everyone else on Nightwish.” 

She straightened up, looking down at him. “Sabine Wren knows who she is. I hope you remember who you are soon too.”

Rubbing the side of his head, Fen considered what Cat had said. Eventually, he stood, and started for the door. “Come with me.” He growled. “You want to know why I have so much hatred for the Watch and for the Empire, I will show you why.” Swiftly, he led his vod through the Rebel base and down a long-abandoned tunnel, pausing only to grab a pick axe. The armour, combined with his look of fury, was enough to prevent anyone else from asking questions or hindering them. Eventually, he stopped opposite a suspiciously smooth wall section in the otherwise rough-hewn tunnel. “Sit.” He grunted. “This is going to take a minute.” He added, before swinging the pick at the smooth section.

Some time later, he had a respectable hole in the ceramacrete. Leaning against the other wall and panting heavily, he nodded towards it. “Remember I asked about the mines? Back during the Clone Wars, Garos IV was the site of a Sep prison camp. As it stands, Amaranthe is sitting where the old administration complex used to be. Anyways, the place was run by a pair of sadistic chakaare who were part of the Watch. Hells, by comparison they make Demagol look sane. What’s in this cave is their handiwork.”

It wasn’t until Cat shone her helmet spot-lamp through the hole that she saw what Fen was talking about. Multiple skeletons, most humanoid, some not, occupied the cave. They lay in heaps in some areas, others lay isolated. From her vantage point, they were too numerous to count. “Who were these people?”

“They were my comrades. My vode. I fought against the Corporate Alliance and the Separatists alongside them. When we were finally overrun and forced to surrender, they sent us here. There were four thousand of us when we were marched in here. By the time the Republic liberated this place, eight standard months later, only three hundred and fifty of us were still alive. The ones entombed here were supposed to be a warning to the rest of us. They suffocated or starved to death in there. This is the source of my hatred of the Watch and all who swear allegiance to them. Blackridge and Alderaan are the sources of my hatred of the Empire. The Jetiise are another matter entirely. Not sure if I ever told you, but they abandoned us to the tender mercy of the Corporate Alliance. Before all that went down, we had a planetary population of over ten million. Now, if we have a million between those on-planet and expats, if we’re lucky. Two-thirds of our planet is inhospitable wasteland. Now do you see why the hatred?” At Cat’s slow nod, he continued. “The other key difference between your hate and mine is this. As you say, yours was chaotic, unfocused. Dangerous. Mine is targeted. Cold. Calculated. The Empire took everything I ever loved. I don’t have anything worth living for. But destroying the Empire, now that is a cause worth dying for. There’s a lot of Imps that need killing. But first, I think it’s time my comrades went home. Think your command would approve an honour guard? Lotta folks’d be mighty grateful.”

"Fen'ika, listen to me…" her voice had softened considerably. "I'm not telling you to forgive or forget. I haven't. I just don't want you to do something you'll regret. We'll avenge your people and our friends, but we'll do it strategically." She took his head gently in her hands and tilted it down so that his helmet knocked lightly against hers, both standing quietly in mutual solidarity.

After a long moment, Cat pulled away. "I'll set my squad to it immediately. If command has a problem, they can take it up with me personally."


	2. New Allies, Old Pain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having caught up with one of his old allies, Fenris returns to the world of his birth to find that life just got more complicated than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get darker from here on out. If you're not comfortable with frank discussions of PTSD and war crimes, now's the time to nope out. This is also the first chapter to contain easter eggs. I'd love to know how many you can find, so leave a comment and let me know please?
> 
> As always, shout-out to my wonderful coauthors LadyAbhorsen and Sombraptor(neither of whom are on AO3 as of now).

It hadn’t taken long for Cat to get things organized. As gently and respectfully as they could, her squad had gathered the bones of the fallen Killashandran Militia into makeshift coffins that were, in reality, blaster cases. Where they could, they placed a single set of remains in one container. These had been reverently stacked in _Amaranthe_ ’s cargo hold, and a rotation established to stand silent vigil over the fallen. Cat’s commanders had also thoughtfully released her entire squad to the detail, and had established negotiating boundaries for Cat, whom they had appointed as their direct representative. To Fen’s annoyance, Sabine had been included in the detail. Fortunately for both, neither crossed paths except where it was absolutely unavoidable. Even then, a nod and a grunt had been the only communication to pass between the two.

Now, Fen sat in his pilot’s chair as the ship came up on the exit from hyperspace. Flipping a couple switches, he activated the internal comms. “Heads’ up. One minute to reversion to realspace.” Closing the circuit, he steadied himself to the task at hand. With practiced ease, he guided _Amaranthe_ along the invisible rail and through the bump that signified the crossover. Not surprisingly, Cat was in the seat behind him. Also not surprisingly, they were hailed almost immediately.

“Incoming cargo ship, this is Nike control. State your name, cargo, and destination.”

“Nike control, this is the cargo ship _Amaranthe_ out of Mandalore. We are inbound to Whitehaven from Garos IV. Angel Flight.”

“ _Amaranthe_ , Nike control. Understood. Come to heading three-two-seven by two-two-one. We’re sending an escort. Acknowledge.”

“Nike control, _Amaranthe_. Acknowledged. Coming to heading three-two-seven by two-two-one.”

“ _Amaranthe_ , Nike control. Welcome home. Nike control, clear.”

“Nike control, _Amaranthe_. Thank you. _Amaranthe_ , clear.” Closing the circuit, Fen looked back at Cat. “Think you can handle getting us down? I need to go change.” At Cat’s nod, he rose. “You have the ship, then.” Departing, he made his way aft to his cabin. Rapidly, he removed his armour, and pulled out new clothes from his wardrobe. The green and khaki uniform was one he’d only infrequently worn over the years. As he dressed, his thoughts drifted to what the uniform had meant, what it had stood for. Eventually, he shook off the ghosts of the past, and finished dressing. Sheathing his dress sword, he rejoined Cat on the flight deck in time to see her skillfully ease the ship down in its assigned landing bay. Out of the viewscreen, he could see an entire contingent of soldiers waiting. Even as he watched, they arranged themselves in two neat lines leading from the bay entry to _Amaranthe_ ’s number one cargo hold. From the Colours present, he could tell that the unit was made up of both the 29th Jaeger Corps and the Queen’s Own.

As the landing ramp descended from the _Amaranthe_ , a single figure approached the entourage disembarking from the starship. The individual’s apparel was an odd blend - a mix of the Killashandran militia’s uniform, Mandalorian plating, and Clone Wars-era flight gear. Seeming to only recognize Fenris, the man headed straight for the _Amaranthe_ ’s captain, clasping his forearm in the traditional _Mando_ handshake.

“ _Shab_ , it’s good to see you, _ner vod_ ,” said Katra Dromaar, uncharacteristically helmetless. His usually long, messy hair was cut to military standards, although he retained his usual trimmed beard.

Fenris returned the handshake. “Likewise, _ner vod_." Before Fenris could continue, Dromaar eyed the new arrivals.

“Command told me you were going to talk to some Alliance people, but I had no clue you were bringing them here.” It was then that the two Nite Owl-helmeted women walked down the ramp, halting as they both recognized him. Dromaar’s face showcased his surprise, although there was no familiarity in his look, since both had repainted their armor since he had last seen them. “You found more Mando’ade, too?”

Their simultaneous exclamation of “ _Drom’ika?_ ” turned his expression from surprise to total shock. “ _Cat’ika? Sab’ika?_ ”

Ca’tra wordlessly went forward, quickly embracing him. He slowly accepted the hug. “ _Osik_ , it’s been way too long…” she said. “That it has,” he replied, unhurriedly pulling away.

He then turned to Sabine, and made a repeat of the handshake he had given to Fenris. She smirked, saying “Should’ve known you wouldn’t stay out of the fight for long.” 

He gave a half-hearted, conflicted smile back. “I’m not part of any fight. Fen here just asked me to train his world’s pilots, so that’s what I’ve been doing these past couple months.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at their familiarity. “You two have met?”

Dromaar nodded in affirmation. “Remember when I was off searching for my uncle, Fenn Rau? It was thanks to her that I found him at last, at the Kryze encampment on Mandalore. I owe Saviin-er, Sabine a great debt.” His native dialect of _Mando’a_ was a more formal variant, so his pronunciation of Wren’s name was markedly different.

Fenris nodded in return, understanding, deciding to keep his view of Bo-Katan and her resistance faction to himself. His face then slowly turned grim, realizing that he needed to inform Dromaar of current events. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but...some things have happened in the galaxy these past six months that you need to know…”

A short time later found the _Mando’ade_ sequestered in Fen’s office in the main palace. The fallen militiamen had been given proper honours and were even now undergoing DNA testing in an attempt to identify them. Now, Fen and the others met to update everyone on the most recent galactic events.

“So, Dromaar,” Fen looked at the other man. “To put it bluntly, Alderaan is gone. The Empire destroyed it with an installation called the Death Star. That has also been destroyed at the hands of the Yavin IV group. There are also some rumors of the Sheshla sector attempting to declare its independence, but rumors being worth half a credit per truckload, I’m not sure I believe it. Also, Casie and Tanwyn are dead. They were on Alderaan when it was destroyed.”

When Cat pulled away from the hug, she had to blink away tears. It had been so long since she'd seen Fenris or Dromar, but here they all were. She and Fen had changed so drastically that she couldn't help but wonder how Drom had changed as well.

"I'm second officer at the rebel base on Garos IV. I've been sent here as their personal envoy, which I suppose means I report to you." A small chuckle slipped out, as she briefly failed to hide how happy she was.

But her happiness was short lived. When Fenris explained the cruel fate that had befallen Casie and Tanwyn to Dromar, she bowed her head. " _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la…_ "

Dromaar furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” All color drained from Dromaar’s face as Fenris elaborated. All Mandalorians knew of what had happened nearly four millennia prior on Malachor V, and even Concord Dawn was missing gargantuan chunks of its crust, mantle, and core from ages of warfare. But for a planet to be completely annihilated by a single weapon…

When Fenris brought up Casie and Tanwyn, pain clear in his eyes, Dromaar remained speechless for a good moment. “Kriff, I...I’m so sorry…”

There was no question about it now. The Empire had shown its true colors to the galaxy, and needed to burn. The same Empire he had fought for, and had comrades die for, had become the very tyranny that they had said the Separatists were.

Before rage could set in any more, his mind quickly switched to worry, wondering about the home of their people. “What about Mandalore? Did the Emperor appoint another governor since those Clan Saxon _shabuire_ got what was coming to them?”

Cat and Fenris exchanged glances. " _Drom'ika_ , you might want to sit down for this."

As the other Mando sat, Fen picked up the thread of conversation.

“Things on Mandalore have gotten even worse, Dromaar. There’s a new chakaar running the show, calls himself the Suprema, as well as some Moff named Gideon. He’s taken over the City of Bone - that old amusement park that never opened? - and been working out of there.” Sighing, the old merc scrubbed his face. “He’s been selling _Mando’ade_ off-planet. As slaves.”

As Dromaar sat there in disbelief, Sabine interjected.

“I hadn’t heard of that. Who is supporting them and which Clans are they taking?”

Fen shot her a look of pure ice. “Clan Vizsla, for one. Apparently they weren’t as shattered as was thought. Clan Gedyc and part of Clan Priest also support him. As far as who they’re taking? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to who or why. They’re just taking anyone and everyone. Men. Women. Not even the _ad’ike_ are safe. They get taken to the City of Bone, where they’re...broken...then they get sent out to various auction houses. We’ve been able to track some of them, but our current resources aren’t up to the task. Our best estimates are that there’s anywhere between three-hundred thousand and seven-hundred-fifty thousand Mando’ade off-world as slaves. We, that is the Killashandran Militia and Navy, have been able to intercept a few slavers and rescue who we can, but as you saw on the way in, we simply don’t have enough ships to begin to effectively chase after every slaver ship. As it is, what we offered the Alliance represents thirty percent of our fleet, and a quarter of our ground troops. We do what we can, but we know it’s not nearly enough. And unfortunately, our priority has to be on tracking down Killashandrans who have been caught in slave-catching raids.”

"Fenn Shysa has gone into hiding. Bo-Katan Kryze has been doing what she can to hold them back but odds are against her. I heard from Jora…" Cat picked up where Fen left off.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sabine asked, looking up at her Captain with eyes both angry and full of worry.

Cat regarded her patiently. "I was waiting for the right time. You know first hand how chaotic things have been. I've only known a short time myself."

She put a hand on the girl's shoulder and turned back to Dromaar. "The sooner we bring the Empire to its knees, the sooner we liberate our people."

Dromaar was speechless. He felt sick. He tried to control his breathing, taking long, ragged breaths. Nearly a quarter of his people had been enslaved. How could this have happened? How could he have been so naïve as to think the Empire would prove prosperous for the galaxy? 

The horror and despair began to subside, rage rushing in to fill the hole left. He clenched his fists, but slowly calmed himself down, attempting to return to his usual collected self. He was far from the only one fooled by the Emperor’s words - trillions _still_ served him. There was no use in beating himself up over what was past - only to make sure he was never so fooled again, and swear vengeance. _Gra’tua cuun._

“...Alright, then,” he said, standing up. “All of you were right. You’ve been fighting Stormtroopers and the like for years, while I’ve hesitated, believing the Empire was still a force for good deep down at its core. Even after what happened to the Journeyman Protector base, I still didn’t see what was obvious to you all. I…” he paused, looking for the right words. “Thank you for showing me I was wrong. The only thing I can do now is right my wrongs by fighting alongside you. If you’ll have me.”

Fen nodded gravely as Dromaar stood. The older mercenary knew well what the younger man meant. ”Of course we’ll have you, _ner vod._ ” To either side, both Mando women nodded as well, adding their assent. “Now, I know you know the strengths and weaknesses of our troops, but our comrades haven’t seen them in action yet. We can head out to the training range and take a look, or there’s a little outpost not too far from here that is a conduit for the slave trade. I reckon it’d be a good thing if we sorta mosey on in and have a little….chat...with the proprietors. What do you think?”

Wordlessly, Ca'tra approached her old friend and took his head in her hands, pressing her brow to his in a gesture of support and solidarity. "You're _aliit._ We are with you."

She let go after a moment and took her place. "My unit isn't large but they are capable and courageous. Every man and woman among them is _Mando'ad_ in all but name. Tell me how we can best help you."

After reciprocating Cat’s gesture, he nodded in affirmation. “I think dealing with that outpost is an excellent idea. It’s about time the greener boys here see a little action.” Dromaar then turned to face Fenris. “By the way, I’m very impressed by your world’s troops. It took a while for most of the trainees I was assigned to get a hang of even the basics of starfighters, but they never, ever gave up. They’re mandokarla through and through.”

As if on cue, a squadron of Alpha-3 Nimbus-class V-Wing starfighters raced across the sky, clearly visible from Fenris’ office, slowly coming to land on the far side of Whitehaven’s makeshift airfield. Despite the circumstances, Dromaar couldn’t help but smile a bit. 

“They’ve come very far. I couldn’t be more proud of them,” he remarked. The Killashandran militia’s snubfighters mostly consisted of Clone Wars surplus and salvage, with a small number of custom craft as well. Much of the prior had been obtained via Mandalore, which had itself obtained a fairly decent amount of Old Republic craft, which Dromaar had to call in favors at MandalMotors in order to obtain for the militia.

“Thank you, Dromaar. That means a lot to me. To us.” Fen pulled a set of datachips from a drawer and slid them across to the trio of _Mando’ade_ across from him. “Here’s the intelligence reports on the station we’ll be hitting. It’s fairly small and out of the way, so we shouldn’t have to deal with any Imps. Maybe an _Arquitens_ or two, plus a half-squadron of fighters. It’s orbiting a gas giant, so we could probably sneak in that way, or we could fight our way in. Dromaar, you’re the expert on that so I’ll leave that in your capable hands. I’d like all three of you to study the layouts and see if we can’t come up with a plan of action that’ll let us get as many slaves off that station alive as possible. Let’s all take some time to think things over and meet again, say tomorrow after lunch.”

Taking the chips, the other Mandos nodded and rose. As they did, Fen raised a hand. “Lieutenant Wren, a moment please.” All three of the others looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then each gave him a variety of stares. Dromaar seemed to understand. Sabine looked concerned. Cat looked angry.

“Remember what I said, _Fen’ika_.” Cat’s voice was hard enough to cut through beskar.

To this, Fen nodded. “You have my word, _vod’ika_. I’m simply going to show her why. That way, she will understand.”

“Right.” With identical nods, Cat and Dromaar left the office. Fen typed something in his computer, and then rose.

“Come with me, please, Lieutenant.”

The pair made their way in silence out of the old administration building and through the streets, passing by a plaza. What made the plaza so remarkable were the many obelisks dotted throughout, each topped with a unit flag. In the center, a torch burned as uniformed guards - most not older than early teens - patrolled the area, keeping a quiet vigil over the area.

“Each one of these obelisks represents a unit that fought the Corporate Alliance and the Separatists, Lieutenant. Each one bears the names of the members of that unit, and their status. As you can see for yourself, far too many of them are MIA. That unfortunately doesn’t mean they’re actually missing. What it means is ‘most likely vaporized or blown into so many pieces that we’ll never be able to recover any remains.’”

“How many names?” Sabine asked quietly, for once looking introspective rather than her usual pugnacious expression.

“In this plaza alone? Two hundred and fifty thousand. One hundred obelisks. And that’s just here in Whitehaven. All total, there’s three million names recorded this way across what’s left of this planet.”

“Civilians and military?”

“Just the militia and regular army. We never had good records on the irregulars. Most of them resisted as best they could, but without central coordination? I don’t want to think how many ended up in shallow unmarked graves, or simply rotten away where they fell without even the dignity of burial.”

“And you use kids as your honour guard? What happened to all your morals about not involving children?”

“There’s a difference. These cadets are from the academy - volunteers. We give them this duty so that they’ll understand early on what it means to serve. Despite what you might be thinking, we’re not monsters. In fact, especially in the last, oh, twenty years, the problem hasn’t been finding enough volunteers to fill our ranks. It’s picking those who will be granted the opportunity. The academy has a yearly class of three hundred cadets. We have, on average, seventy five applicants for each slot. You do the math. Come, the tour is not over yet.”

Rapidly, the pair wound their way out of the old city, to the newer construction just outside of the massive, cratered walls of the mountain top fortress. As they passed through the gates, Fen pointed at a few of the craters, and commented. “What you see here is the site of our last stand against the Separatists. The only reason we didn’t fall is because of a split-second rescue by the 212th Battalion, the Winged Hussars. Well, that and the fact that the wets thought they were fighting zombies. Something about dead men attacking, or some such tosh.” He fell silent again, and led the younger woman to a hangar where he checked out a craft that looked more or less like someone had taken a cargo container, grafted a rudimentary cockpit on it, and slapped on a pair of oversized engines. At Sabine’s incredulous look, he shrugged. “Can’t have the Empire getting suspicious that we’re rearming. So we ship in ‘replacement’ components, and home-build a lot of our own craft.”

With this explanation, he waved her aboard the unlikely looking craft, which was, to her surprise, rather elegantly appointed. Fen ran through a short checklist, and took the ungainly-looking craft out into the night sky.

Half a standard hour later, he settled the craft in a small clearing between the base of a mountain and a forest. Shutting the craft down into standby mode, he announced they would be walking from there. Ten minutes of hiking brought them to a deserted, extremely run-down village. Many of the buildings had burned, or showed signs of combat. Only a handful were still intact enough to be classified as still standing.

“This was a mining village about forty years ago. It was a small place, no more than four or five hundred people.” Fen commented, his tone and demeanor that of someone who looked around and only saw the past. “Most everybody either worked the mines, or tended the handful of farms that supplied most of our food. A few worked the forests, either logging, or hunting.”

“What happened here, to cause this transformation?” Sabine’s voice was quiet, respectful.

“The Watch and the Corporate Alliance burned it about four years into the war. We were small, strategically insignificant. Probably why they chose us as their ‘example’ of what happens to those who defy them. The lucky ones were shot. The rest? Some were burned alive, others were tortured and mutilated in horrible ways before they finally died. I still hear the screams sometimes.”

“The entire village?”

“Everyone. Men. Women. Children. No one was spared. Their commander is now one of ISB’s bully boys. Most of the rest of the perpetrators, those we haven’t tracked down and killed, are also ISB, or in the Imp military. The monsters who orchestrated this, the ones who revel in this kind of sickening villainy are now lauded as the Empire’s finest. They won’t stop until someone makes them stop. We tried bringing them to justice through the courts. We asked for their extradition, multiple times. The Imps kept refusing. A year ago, after the last time we asked, the Imps picked one of our cities. One of our smaller ones, about seven thousand people in all. Mostly refugees that had resettled here after the Clone Wars. In the middle of the night, the Imps bombed Talasburg into a crater. Ten weeks we labored, looking for survivors. There were none. After that, we decided enough was enough. We tried them in absentia in military courts for war crimes, and condemned them all to death. Now do you understand, Lieutenant? The reason I don’t grant quarter, the reason I don’t accept surrender, is because of things like this. The people here, _my_ people, were murdered. The people of Talasburg, folks who had absolutely nothing to do with the war and crimes like this, were murdered by the same government that protects the monsters who raped and murdered children. Yes, I am capable of the same ruthlessness. To some, probably even to you, I am a monster. But the difference between them and me is two-fold. I don’t kill or harm kids if I can avoid it. And secondly, Lieutenant,” By now, Fen’s eyes were blazing with controlled fury. “Secondly, I don’t let my enemies suffer. I at least grant them a quick death.”

“I think I understand. I can’t say that I agree, or that your logic is flawless, but I at least understand where you’re coming from. Anything else you need to show me? Cause I’m sure Captain Cadera is wondering where her right hand woman is right about now.”

“No. We’ll head back to the dropship, and return to Whitehaven.”

“That thing’s a dropship?”

“Yes. Despite its ungainly appearance, its remarkably sturdy and well-suited for the fast hit-and-run raids we tend to do. And the fact that it’s homebuilt out of so many commercially available components means they can’t trace the attacks back to us. Not if they have no survivors to interrogate, anyways.”

Cat watched Sabine and Fenris go, feeling a small hole in the pit of her stomach. She let out a sigh and shook her head before turning her attention back to Dromaar. “It’s been too long, vod. Walk with me.” She took him by the elbow, walking in the opposite direction from the other pair.

“I’m sorry you had to find out what happened this way.” She said softly. She removed her own helmet and tucked it under her arm so she could look at him eye to eye. They had both changed. Cat had cut her hair, shorn off at the jaw, the right swept back in tight braids. On her cheeks were deep, self-inflicted scars in the shape of slashed, inverted crescents. Her eyes were the same shape and color, but they were harder. Older.

“I’ve missed you, _vod._ ” She said quietly.

“I’ve missed you too. And don’t worry...I guess I had to find out one way or another. I’m glad it was from you guys.”

He looked off into the distance, scratching his beard, clearly still somewhat rattled about everything that had happened without his knowledge. He looked back to her, another subject now on his mind. “I, uh… I’m sorry about how abrupt everything that happened after the whole Vader thing was. I barely even said goodbye, and while you were in that state…”

His gaze then went to the scars upon her cheeks, and a happier look crossed his face .

“Ah...I remember, you told me about your clan’s tradition, with the whole scarring thing. So you finally felt worthy enough to get them?

Cat shook her head. “I never blamed you. Not once. I was angry and needed somewhere to put it; so I blamed Fen for a while. Then while training on Mandalore I blamed Skirata. Anything to keep from turning my anger inward. I never realized just how badly I needed to hate. To rage. Vader was right. I would have made a good Sith…”

She had never told anyone what had words, if any, passed between her and the Dark Lord. “Turned out that the key was not in burying the hate, but in channeling it. Turning it into something constructive. So I did. Every single day I trained until I fought just as well with my left hand as I ever did with my right. Then and only then was I given my cybernetic limb.” She flexed the fingers. 

“All that time. All the blood, sweat and tears I shed. Every curse and scream I uttered was worth it. I now lead the struggle instead of being caught up in it. The day I earned my stripes, I also earned my scars.”

Dromaar pondered her words for a moment, struggling to find the right reply to her statement about the Dark Lord. “...That’s how it is, I suppose...” 

Most sentients would find the response callous, but among Mandalorians, it was a simple statement of fact. A culture where the primary greeting was most correctly translated as noting that the other person was still alive had trouble putting things delicately. 

He gazed at her cybernetic limb as she flexed the fingers, before returning to look her in the eye. He wondered whether it was the best course of action, bringing up another emotional wound of hers, but figured it was the best way to help bring some closure. “From what I remember of your buire...they would be proud of you. Clan Cadera once again has a true warrior.”

The following afternoon found all four _Mando'ade_ back in Fen's office, ringing a tactical map displaying the approach to a double-ringed station in orbit around a gas giant. Various icons flashed as tactical data was appended to them. Fen's eyes were hard as he continued to type notes, his voice level as he spoke to his fellow Mandalorians.

"This is Station C-2174/59, also known as Valkyn station. It orbits P9R-221, the gas giant you see here. It never got a proper name as there's no habitable planets in the system. Normal complement is two shuttles, four fighters, and around thirty crew. Intel's best guess is we're looking at around seventy-five to one hundred slaves onboard at present. Current op-order has us going in first with a squad for support. We can either fight our way in, or try bluffing our way in. Once we have control over the station, Fleet is going to start bringing in medical transport to lift the slaves off the station. Command's not interested in holding the station, so if the Rebellion wants it, we need to know. Otherwise, the current plan is to blow it once we're off. We'll have the corvettes _Trebuchet_ , _Ballista_ , and _Halberd. Halberd_ will also be carrying Strike squadron in case we need them. Preferences on how we get onboard?"

Dromaar stood before the tacmap, arms crossed, the mishmashed attire of the previous day replaced by his full set of ebon _beskar’gam_. The blue light emanating from the hologram illuminated the room, reflecting off of bits of metal that weather had exposed on his plating, more than in the years prior. Clearly, the past four years since Ca’tra had seen him weren’t spent idle. He stepped forward, placing his hands on the rim of the table. 

“While I usually prefer a more measured approach, with slavers, I feel like the fierfeks deserve to get slotted at the very least. Still...our primary objective is getting the slaves out of there safely…”

"I'd like to offer a third option." Cat replied. "We let the squad lure away their fighter escort. I'll gather twelve of my best troops in four man squads to enter here, here, and here. Sowing discord and chaos amongst the crew and dividing their forces."

She flicked a button and zoomed in. "The three of us and Lieutenant Wren will enter here, using the chaos on other parts of the rig to pass through unhindered."

"That could work. I am concerned that they might try and harm the slaves if we tried that, though." Fen's brow furrowed in thought, wracking his brain in thought. "Too many variables to control here."

"A thought." For the first time in this meeting, Sabine spoke up. "As satisfying as it would be to take these _chakaare_ out with one strike, our priority needs to be liberation. Going in guns blazing is probably the worst thing we could do. Stealth and misdirection usually work for the Spectres. I think they'll work here. Get in, get control of the station, then start burning these _bev’ikase_ to the ground."

Across from her, Fen glanced up in visible confusion. "You...you know that's just anatomical, right, Lieutenant?"

Sabine shrugged. "It's certainly appropriate. Point is, if we go in fast and noisy, a lot of innocent people are going to die. Are we willing to risk that?"

"I'm not." Fen stretched, before switching the tactical display over to project the image of a pair of humans in blue and grey Mandalorian armor. "These are Tiroc and Senaar Deshra, a pair of siblings associated with the Watch. Ostensibly, they do some cargo movement and take the occasional bounty job. Fortunately for me, they're talented at the former, rather than the latter. We, uh, _intercepted_ them a few weeks ago, and so far we haven't heard any indication that they've been missed. I was thinking if we go in all stealthy, two of us could pretend to be them, with the others being associates we've picked up. If that's not preferable, then let's work out a better cover story now. Command wants us to hit the station within the next forty-eight standard hours."

Dromaar nodded at their suggestions. “Alright, looks like we’ve agreed we’re going in subtle, at the beginning, at least.” He stepped back, crossing his arms. “That should work. If we’re to implement all these ideas together… start with the _Kyr’tsad_ impersonators, get them on the inside. They’ll be in a prime position to assist when the attack starts, if they can get to the command center, or another of the station’s controls.”

“I volunteer,” Sabine pitched in. “Judging by the hologram, Senaar looks to be around my height, and I’ve been undercover more times than I can count. Not to mention, distractions are my specialty.”

“That seems reasonable.” Dromaar paused. “I’ll join you. Need to get some experience in that department myself. So we get in there, and get to the command center, while Cat leads her men in, which will be the enemy’s primary concern. At the CC, we can override doors and such, to both get the slaves free and herd the slavers into killzones or otherwise trap them.” He then turned his attention to Fenris. “But in the end, it’s your call, you’re the officer here. Or if anyone else has anything to add.”

“If no one else has anything, then let's go with this plan.” When no one else commented, Fen continued. “Alright. Let's brief the troops and gather what we need. I want to be skids up in six hours.”


End file.
